Table Of ContentALLCREWS.qxp 29.11.2004 5:36 Uhr Seite 1
BRIAN BELLE-FORTUNE
all crews
Journeys through Jungle / Drum & Bass Culture
vision publishing
ALLCREWS.qxp 29.11.2004 5:36 Uhr Seite 2
Published byVision Publishing Limited,
1 TrafalagarMews, Eastway,
London, E9 5JG, UK
www.vision-publishing.co.uk/ www.allcrew.co.uk
© Brian Belle-Fortune, 2004
Design
NadineGahr
Coverphotograph
Tristan O’Neill
Photography
Cleveland Aaron, AndyCotterill, SteveGullick, CourtneyHamilton,
RobHann, Tristan O’Neill, Brian Sweeney, Lu Vu, DesWillie
Printed and bound in GreatBritain byBiddlesLtd, King’sLynn
Setin Notes/ NotesMonobyprimetype, Germany(www.primetype.com)
TherightsofBrian Belle-Fortuneastheauthorofthisworkhasbeen asserted
byhim in accordancetotheCopyrightDesignsand PatternsAct1988.
Thisbookissold subjecttothecondition thatitshall not, bywayoftradeor
otherwise, belent, resold, hired out, orotherwisecirculated withoutthe
publisher’spriorconsentin anyform ofbinding orcoverotherthan thatin
which itispublished and withouta similarcondition including thiscondition
being imposed on thesubsequentpurchaser– please. Theopinionsexpressed
in thisbookarenotnecessarilythoseoftheauthor. All information isbelieved
tobecorrectatthetimeofwriting.
Whilethepublishershavemadeeveryreasonableefforttotracethecopyright
ownersforsomeofthephotographsin thisbook, theremaybeomissionsof
credits, forwhich weapologise.
ISBN: 0-9548897-0-3
Veryspecial thanksto: Colin & Rachel Knowledge, MissPinkand Nicky
Blackmarket, LaurenceElectricPR, Tania UMC, IndyBBCand Nastya.
Dedicated toMum & Dad and Kate– mybestsupporting producer
In memoryofmyfriend Minako, wholived tobecreative...
... and John Peel – thankyou forthemusic!
ALLCREWS.qxp 29.11.2004 5:36 Uhr Seite 3
CONTENTS
PREFACE 004
PART 1 – ALLCREW MUSS BIG UP PART 2 – THE JOURNEYCONTINUES
SEPTEMBER ’88 007 A NEWDAWN 180
BEGINNINGS 010 THIS IS OURMUSIC 185
SOME JOURNEYS THROUGH THE MUSIC 022 DANCE TO THE BEAT OFA DIFFERENT DRUM 192
CREWS 024 PRODUCERS 195
GIVE UPTHE DAYJOB 026 POINT OFSALE 209
THIS IS OURMUSIC 030 WIRELESS 214
PRODUCERS 033 INNA DE DANCE 225
DUB PLATE PRESSURE 045 WAR STORIES 236
LABELS 049 GROOVERIDIN’ 240
MAJORS 056 LYRICON OUR LIPS 254
THE WIRELESS 060 EVOLUTION OFTHE MC 261
RECORD SHOPS 086 SPREADING LOVE – DRUM & BASS LIVE 265
RAVES 091 IT’S ALLGONE PETE TONG 268
PROMOTERS 107 ONE TIME THE WORD WAS: ‘REACH RUSSIA’ 269
WORRIES IN THE DANCE 116 THE ENDS 272
BOOKING AGENTS 122
DJS 128
MCS 148
MEDIA 161
INTERNATIONAL 170
YESTERDAY, TODAY& TOMORROW 174
A FESTIVALIN HARINGEY? 176
ALLCREWS.qxp 29.11.2004 5:36 Uhr Seite 4
PREFACE
Rows of people stand facing out from dark Togettheworld ofJungleDrum & Bass(JDB) in context,
banks of speakers. Dancing with militancy, imaginetheopening ofCitizen Kanethatbeginsin space,
stepping on every tier of the Forum, Telepathy, focuseson theworld and descendsthrough thecloudsto
AWOL, Desire, Exodus. The souls on the floor, a country, eventuallylanding on a particularstreet. The
individuals, all as one, are cuttin’ animated samecan bedonewith music. Welivein a world ofmusic.
human sculptures – poses frozen in strobes … Godown from thebroad range, Classical, Rockn Roll,
facing Randall, Grooverider, the bass bins or Country& Western, Pop, JazztoDancemusic. JDB shares
nowhere in particular, they’re ‘avin’ it. common land with Reggae, HipHop, RareGroove, Soul,
House, Technoand Hardcore. It’sall good music. Werespect
Lasers reflected in sunglasses, whistles, otherneighbourhoodswith peoplejustaspassionateabout
horns and lighter flares burn the air. They OasisorGarth BrooksasweareaboutGrooverideror
dance with no room to dance … and scream for Roni Size. Peoplehavetheirpreferences. Butthis
the rewind. The DJ drops the tune and it all neighbourhood isJungle.
goes off again. This is Roast, Stush,
Innovation, VIP Champagne Bash. ’97 the scene rolls into another weekend.
MCs give out shouts to destinations
The people love dressing up, enjoying an on the web of England’s motorways.
edge in the air. Above all, they love the The M1, M3, M4, M6, M20, M25,
crucible that is Jungle Fever. You’re outside at not forgetting the M62 …
dawn in a sand quarry in Luton with Exodus, or As you drift down the motorway,
on that fairground ride at World Dance. lose the pirates, switch to CD,
sit back, enjoy a spliff, relax
The rush of weed or E takes hold. With a and drift into the night.
breathless surge you move to another level.
You’re in it, it’s in you, wrapped in the music, “Theyused tocall ourmusic, ‘Devil Music.’ A lotof
the air, the vibe. The mix is running and beats people don’tunderstand the kind ofstruggle we’ve
burst through the night with the visceral been through tomake Dance Music predominantin
intensity of a tempest. the UK.” Grooverider, October2004
I’m floating in it, at the highest plane. “Theydon’tunderstand whatwe had todo. We’d drive
The ravers weave multitudes of patterns. waydown tothem farcountryplaces … drag record
They look beautiful. They look wicked. boxes overmuddyfields and playforhours. The kids
There’s nothing like this in this game don’tappreciate whatwe had todoto
and I love it with all my soul … getwhere we are today.” DJ SS, October2004
004 PREFACE
ALLCREWS.qxp 29.11.2004 5:36 Uhr Seite 5
MTVEurope – August 1998
One hour later Wagamamas, Soho. Paul’s from a
program called Modern Times. He’s full of
Leisurely coffee in staff restaurant by Camden’s questions. We chat for hours. “You’ve got your
canal. A group of TV researchers are putting crews and massives, labels, there’s pirates, and
together a series of pan European video diaries. record shops, then there’s your DJs and MCs, and
I’m summoned to Executive Producer Stephen D producers making tunes in bedrooms, and there’s
Wright’s office. MTV’s open plan innards are Music House, and your promoters and your clubs,
covered by blue cushioned carpet. Beautiful Euro magazines, distributors, Rave History and people
kids wearing Club Culture’s clothes sit at PCs, who design flyers, then there’s drugs, fashions,
others carry piles of videos or log rushes on TV carnival, Bristol, Leicester, the crowds, One in
screens. Robbie Williams is in reception. Davina the Jungle, booking agents, multicultural music,
McCall holds court with a group of interns. has its own language. It’s a uniquely British
scene …” Walking along Wardour Street my head’s
The exec’s cramped office has glass walls – buzzing with all the info I’ve downloaded. Slope
feels like a goldfish bowl. “Have you found back to MTV but can’t focus. Try to sleep that
a DJ for the Jungle diary?” Yeah. That’s all night – can’t sleep. Get up and start writing
sorted. We’re covering Wildchild.” “Never heard notes on scraps of paper.
of him.” “Wildchild’s on Kool FM, works at SRD,
plays Carnival. And it’s her not him.” “Her?” Reach work early. Start typing an e-mail to
“Yeah. Skibadee MCs for her. She’s wicked.” Exec Producer. One hour later. Red Anna checks
Wright’s not happy: “Interesting but not exactly the screen: “Looks interesting. Church of
Jungle is it?” “Sorry. Don’t get you.” “Well Jungle, pirate stations, illegal raves …
Jungle is a black male thing. You need to get Is it a program proposal?” “No. It’s an e-mail
back out there – find someone else.” “‘A BLACK for Stephen D Wright but you know what? I don’t
MALE THING!?’” think I’m going to send it.” A couple of weeks
later I say to my partner, “Kate … I think I’m
The other researchers clock the action through writing a book.”
glass walls: “Oh mi god.” “Look. It’s all going
off.” “Shit.” “What the hell that’s about?” Mostofwhatwastobethefirstversion ofAll CrewMuss
“Stop staring everyone. B’s … coming out.” Big Upwaswritten in 18 months. Ithen wasted months
Door opens “‘ … A BLACK MALE THING!’ You haven’t trying tofind a publisher. Theyweren’tinterested. Ialmost
got a fucking clue!” People look up. Door slams. lostheart. Friendsweresaying thatthebookwasgood.
Glass reverberates. “He’s coming back.” “Alright I’m notsurehowmuch Ibelieved them until Sage, my
B.” “Not really. No.” “Fancy a coffee?” MCon piratestation Ruud Awakening, asked toread the
manuscript. Atthetimeitwasa bundleofpaperheld
Back outside by the canal with Red Anna: “What togetherwith string. Sagecallsme: “Iwasatsomeparty
is it with these media types? They’re only lastnightand leftyourbookon a sofa …” Ithink, ‘He’s
interested in reinforcing stereotypes. Doesn’t gonna sayhe’slostit.’ “… Leftiton thesofa right. I’ve
matter what the actual truth is. I mean, what gonetogeta drink, comebackand there’sfourpeople
is the point of hiring specialist researchers trying toread thesamepage! Seriousman. When’sitbeing
if they won’t listen? I’m sick of them saying published?” “Itisn’t.” All Crewwasgoing nowhere. Iwent
Jungle is x, y, z. It’s multicultural that’s why toretrievea draftfrom a publisherin a shining toweron
…” Mobile goes off. It’s a BBC producer – wants Euston Road and wasdirected tothepostroom in the
to meet soon as. “Where you going?” “To see a basement. TheythoughtIwasa courier. Itwasdepressing.
man who wants to make the definitive Jungle Ifeltlikechucking themanuscriptintoa skip. ButIfelt
documentary.” “You’re goin’ right now? Suppose responsibleforall thosestorieson thepages. All Crew
they start asking for you?” “Tell ‘em I’m off belonged tothepeople.
doing more ‘research.’ ”
PREFACE 005
ALLCREWS.qxp 29.11.2004 5:37 Uhr Seite 6
AllCrews – The Remix
Rachel and Colin ofVision Publishing, whoproduce
With aLittle HelpFrom MyFriends
Knowledgemagazine, havemadethisthird version possible.
Theirsupport, guidanceand hard workhaveproduced a dub
Friendscametotherescue. ImetdesignerNadineGahr platespecial. Itincludesmanynewphotographs, mostly
atBerlin’sLoveParade. Shesuggested thatifwewanted courtesyofTristan O’Neill, Cleveland Aaron, Courtney
All Crewouttheresobadly, weshould putitoutourselves. Hamilton and AndyCotterill. NadineGahrhascomeup
Cameron, a friend from Melbourne, had written a poetry trumpsagain re-designing thewholebook. Shehasbroken
book, printed and distributed ithimself. Thatstarted me upthetextgrid structure, making itflowand jumplike
thinking, “We’ll printup100 copiesand seehowtheydo.” Drum & Bassmusicwith differenttypefacesreflecting
Nadinegotbusywith design. Tristan O’Neill (DJmagazine) differentvoices. Nevertheless– I’m dyslexicsoit’sbeen
arrived with photographsand weall wentintothemix. We ourmission tomakethetexteasytoread aswell. Thanks
couldn’tafford toprintAll Crewsowehad itphotocopied, toRicoourdistribution isbeing handled bySRD –
spiral bound, then Nadineand Ihawked them ‘round record all proppa tings.
and bookshops.
Thinkofthisversion asa remix. PartOneincludesthe
IgaveStorm a copy. Goldienicked Storm’s, startscalling original All CrewMussBig Uppublished in 1999. Many
artistsand reading bitstothem. Icrawl outmytentatthe peoplefeatured in PartOnehavemoved on and arenow
Eclipsefestival in Plymouth and bumpintoKennyKen. doing differentthingssosometextwill seem dated, butit
Goldiehad called him: “He’sreading outstufffrom that representsa snapshotofthesceneasitwas. However, it
interviewwedid. Sowhere’smycopy?” SamedayResin at featuresnewinterviewswith charactersmissed outlast
ExcessiveSoundsin Enfield bellsme: “When can you drop time. PartTwocoversthemanychangesand developments
offmorecopies? We’vesold out.” in JungleDrum & Basssince2000. All Crewsisnota
‘Who’sWho’ buta journeyaccompanied bymusicwith the
NeitherNadinenorIhad worked on a bookbeforeso namesoftuneswoven throughoutthetext. I’verinsed out
All Crew1wasa littlerough around theedges. Weeven all thepagessoadditional information like‘Thanks’, the
missed outtheword ‘Culture’ from thecovertitle. Both popular‘Glossary’ and colourpicturescan befound
Nadineand Tristan stayed on board forthesecond version www.allcrew.co.uk– Watch theride.
and tookthebooktoanotherlevel. All Crewwasre-released
in Christmas1999. Therehad been a mistakewith theISBN Sending oneouttoall theheroesImetalong theway.
ordernumber, which madeitincrediblydifficulttofind but
wesold all 2,000 copies. Then camestoriesofbooksbeing
stolen from shops. Friendseven nicked itfrom theirfriends.
Fouryearslaterordersstill camein – especiallyfrom
clubbersand studentsfrom theUK/ Europe, theUS,
Canada, Australia and NewZealand. I’m pleasantlysurprised
with thepositivereaction thebookhasreceived. And it’s
humbling hearing peoplereferring toAll Crewas‘TheDrum
& BassBible.’ I’vehad somanyrequestsfora rewind that
I’vetaken upmypen again.
006 SEPTEMBER 88
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PART 1
ALL CREW MUSS BIG UP
SEPTEMBER ‘88
“Freedom is a road seldom travelled bythe multitude.”
Show‘Em WhatYou Got, Public Enemy, DefJam, ’88
Flashbacktoa fewweeksearlierwhen thenewclubbing
season began: therewasa differentkind ofenergyin Soho
thatevening. ThequeueoutsideTheWag bulged. Friday
Don’tknowhowIcametobebuying a ticketfora raveat nightsatTheWag with thegood old faithful. HipHop
thebackofa shoeshopin Islington. A guyon somepirate downstairs, RareGrooveupstairsand thesametrendyfaces
radiostation wenton abouta partyand gaveouta strutting theirfashionablestuff. Paytheusual and realise
telephonenumber. Thegirl on thephonesussed meout Ihadn’tnoticed themusicbooming beyond thedoorway.
and gavemetheaddress– theshoeshopin Islington. Something odd happensin thefourfeetbetween thecash
Boughttheticketwithouteven knowing ifIwasgoing. deskand theentrance. Captured byheat, smokeand the
Ihadn’ttold anyofmyfriends. Ihad an instinctthatthey’d vibe, a brown-skinned Goddesswith hugeeyesand green
thinkIwasmad. Doesseem crazy. I’m doing thisalone. facepaintoffersmea welcomeand somewaterfrom a
Chill in theflattill the12am clubbing hour, then checkthe plasticbottle. Someoneelseisshaking myhand asking if
ticketfortheaddress. Noaddress– shit– onlya mobile I’m “ ‘Avin’ a good one?” Ipan round theroom from the
phonenumber. Engaged. Engaged. Engaged. Recorded centreofa timewarp. Theplaceisoneheaving massof
message– M1, Junction what? Drivemyrusty, red Spitfire sweat-drenched flesh. A partyin a steam bath. It’s
acrosstheEastIndia DockRoad and head north fortheM1, Heaven’sGateorDante’sInfernoand I’veneverseen
still wondering whatthehell I’m doing. TheNorth Circular’s anything likeit.
greylinesaresoftened byRoyAyersin thespeakers. Brent
Cross, M1, alonein thecapsuleon a road toGod knows A green lasercutsthrough thehaze, striking a CD held aloft
where. I’m thefunki-dreaded soul boyin a leatherjacket bya bald-headed, bare-chested blackguy, rocking, perched
chugging along in theslowlane, being passed byeveryone: atopa speaker. Below, theDJ dancesfrom mixtomix,
lorries, old-agepensionersand parentswith kidsasleepin mouthing thewordsofMartin LutherKing’sspeech IHave
theback. Iturn down thestereotoseeifthecar’s a Dreamand applauding theaudience. Besidehim a bloke
developed anynewnoises. Reallyshouldn’tbeoutdoing fiddleswith projectorsand slidemachinesshining colours
mysterytoursin thismotor. Rememberthetimetheleft on faces, laughing, dancing, shouting. A strobethrowsthe
wheel fell offoutsidetheAstoria? room intoslowmotion. It’spacked from thefronttothe
SEPTEMBER 88 007
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backtothesides– moisturerunsdown themirrored walls.
Even thestaffarebouncing behind jugsoficed wateron
thebar. Everyoneseemstoknowthemusic. Screaming Carsareabandoned asoccupantshead upthemuddyroad
together. All thosehandsin theair. And themusic– in baseball capsand Timberlands. Walking with a purpose.
unrelenting music. Moresmiling facesin myface. It’s Distantmusicand flashing lightspourthrough the
becoming claustrophobic. Difficulttobreathe, Iclimbthe hedgerows. All thosedungarees, baggyjumpers, big floppy
spiral staircaseattherearoftheclub. Below, peopleata hatsand hooded tops. Threegirlswith shining facessiton
tablearehugging, stroking each other, looking up, waving. thebackofthecaruntil wewind thelastfewyardsintoa
It’sall toohypnotising, toomuch totakein. Iwithdraw field / carpark. Good friendsforfifteen minutes. Istall,
from thescenelikea zoom lens. Upstairs, it’sdarkand theyleavewith a ‘see-you-inside’ hug and danceoff
familiar. RareGroovesplaytoa fewofthe‘faces’ wearing towardsthemusic. Acrossthefields, a largeblackbarn
Gaultierand Joseph. It’skind ofmature, restrained, a bit stretchesbackintothetrees. Toitsleft, there’sa fairground
empty. Iclutch a can oftrendyPilsbeerand restupby in full swing. I’m surrounded bygroupsofpeoplechatting
somewindowsoverlooking thestreet. It’s2am and the ‘round cars, shouting down theway, likeeveryoneknows
queueisbigger. Whatthefuckisgoing on? I’m doing a each other. Ifeel paranoid and wonderifIbelong. Ifollow
retake: thelasers, smokeand handsin theair. Somany themusictoitssourceand strangerschattomein the
peopletalking, touching. Thosebaggytrousers, t-shirtsfor queue. “Havesomewater, whereyou comefrom?
towels. Whitepeople, blackpeople, dancing soclose Manchester? Yorkshire, London, where? What’syername?
together. Everyonesoclosetogether. Themusicpounds Seethem cars? Did ya getlost? Gonna bea blinder, never
through thefloor, upstairstothedarkand familiar, pastthe been tothisbeforeeither, lostmefriends, whatyou
matureand restrained, trendyand too-cool-to-movebrigade. on … ?” I’m confused again, trying tofigureoutwhatitis.
Thefamiliarhad lostit. Downstairs… downstairsis Feeling whatitisn’t. Attitude, there’snoattitude. Ifyou
frightening yetenthralling. Ican’thelpbutdriftbackdown don’tbelong, whyareyou here? Theguysattheentrance,
thespiral staircaseand stareatthemayhem. MyGod could pony-tails, shaggyhairand broad grins, riptheticketsand
theyparty. Ifeel odd, outofplaceand decidetoleave. open thewayin. “Ifyou’rehere, you belong.”
Backon theM1, a carpacked with peopleglidesbyin the Itwasn’ta barn. Itwasan aircrafthanger. Theonlytime
middlelane– it’sbouncing, they’rewaving. Iwonder you seeanything likethisisin those‘Old Testament’ films
wherethey’vecomefrom. Morepensioners, morehuge with a castofthousands. All toomuch tobereal. Somany
lorrieswith theirover-sized unmellowwheels. Anothercar, peopledancing. They’redoing thatdancewith theirarmsto
a geezer’sgotthewindowdown and isshouting atme thatmusic– unrelenting, uplifting music. Othersare
abovethemusic. A whiteEscortpullslevel in theoutside bouncing upand down. A girl with a whistlerunsaround
lane, horn honking, everyonescreaming through open windmilling herarmsand hugssomeone. DJsIdon’tknow
windows. Theyzoom off, leaving atthenextjunction. Which playlikeGods, rising from themasseson a hugescaffolding
junction? Justfollowthetail lights. In therear-viewmirror, platformsalong onewall. Abovethem, darkfiguresmove
Iclocka stream ofheadlightsleaving themotorway. Ihope between stagelightsand barragesoflasers, releasing a
they’renotfollowing me. Ihaven’tgota cluewhereI’m showerofwhiteballoonsintotherising screams. I’m
going. I’m caughtupin something elsehere. Wegrind toa walking tothescaffolding, brain overloaded with images
haltdown somecountrylane. Moreshoutsand calls. A guy and faces, thousandsoffaces. Blag through thesecurity,
in a whiteporkpiehatand fluorescentorangejacketwalks climbuppastthespeakerstothesecond storeyand join
backuptheroad, chatting brieflytoeach driverand giving otherson theplatform. We’retaking in thewholething,
upbeforehegetstome. Iopen theroofand stand. The thisvibe, from thebestseatin thehouse. Peopleare
sightisawesome. Toomanycarstocountat2am down a raving, well and trulyraving. There’snootherword forit.
countrylane. Something connectsus. Itisn’ta trafficjam, We’retalking toeach otherabovethemusic. Theteacher,
it’sa convoy. Ahead there’smovement. All thecarsare theburglarand theSaturdaygirl. Nevermetsomany
doing three-pointturns. Someonemustknowwherewe’re differentpeople.
going. Afterthelastleft, then right, a blokewith a walkie-
talkiedirectsthetrafficpasta small sign in orangepaint–
ToSunrise.
008 SEPTEMBER 88
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Sometime‘round sixo’clock, Icrash outwith someothers
in a corneramongstplasticbottles, flyersand polystyrene Paul Anderson would bethere, DJing a wicked set, leavethe
cups. Lying down, there’sa strangeside-on viewof deckstojoin theboyson therink– yes, hewasa wicked
bouncing legsand feet. Closemyeyesand themusicbeats skater. Atitsbest, theSaturdaynightvibewascomparable
on. Open them tocheckthatit’sall still there. Everybody totheheatofa JungleFever. I’d hearaboutotherclubs
looking sogood. Sleeptill I’m woken, hearing people whereitwasalsogoing off, theEmbassy, LeBeatRoute,
shouting foronemoretune. Thelastrecord playsand Ifind theRoyalty, Mud Club, theCamden Palaceand TheWag.
theenergytostand and dancethenight’smaddestdance. In trendystylemagazinesIread aboutAmerican clubslike
Everyoneclapseveryone. A voiceon thespeakersissaying NewYork’sParadisecluband theWarehousein Chicago.
thankyou toloadsofnames. TheonlyoneIrecogniseis IleftLondon and drifted outoftheclubscenefora few
Paul Anderson. When thesystem’sturned off, Ican still years. When Ireturned, theplaceskicking itwerethe
hearthemusic. Boilerhouse, Rawand, ofcourse, thelegendarySoul IISoul
attheAfrica Centrein CoventGarden. JazzyB famously
Outside, upthehill, therearefaintsoundsfrom a car berated sedentaryclubberssaying, “Ifyou’renotdancing
stereo. In thesunlight, peoplearedancing on roofsand fuckoff.“ Matesofmineweregoing toWestworld, Shoom
bonnets. England’sneverlooked sopleasant. Thisis and EntertheDragon, name-checking peoplelikePhil Salon,
freedom. A groupofpolicemen lookon through binoculars. NickyHolloway, ReneGelston, DaveDorrell, SteveProctor
Havewebeen naughtyboysand girls? Whoseland isthis and DannyRampling.
anyway? Fivemileson itfeelslikea dream. Istopthecar
and huntfora cassette, knowing I’vegotnoneofthat I’d heard ofsomeoftheDJswhich TheFacesaid held
music. Ineed toseesomeone, tell a friend that… Somuch swayin the80s. Theirlistoffiftyincluded JazzyB, Jay
totell. Mybestfriend from yearsbackhasbecomelive-in Strongman, JeremyHealy, Colin Faver, PeteTong, Tim
HouseMasterofourold boarding school. Reach thecountry Westwood and MattBlack– Fabio, Grooveriderand Jumping
villagefifteen milesawayand head forhiscottagebythe JackFrosthad yettocometotheirnotice. ProducersSmith
sideoftheManorHouse. Iwalkintohisliving room. My & Mightyin Bristol stopped messing with Acid, cooked up
friend looksold. I’m ten yearsyoungerchatting away, then someheavyReggae, drum and basslinegroovesand started
realisethathedoesn’tseem atall interested. Perhapsit’s answering reporters’ questionsabout‘TheBristol Sound’.
all beyond hiscomprehension. Wherethehell had Ibeen? TheHacienda had been going foryears. JamesBrown
“I’vebeen in this‘thing’ man.” appeared attheTown & Country. Butthescenechanged
when thenewlyconverted returned from Ibiza. DJ culture
Wednesday1pm, I’m day-dreaming in thecoffeeroom at trulystarted tomakeitspresencefeltwhen S Expressand
work. TheIntensiveCareSisterhandsa tabloid toa staff BombtheBasshitthecharts, all toa backdropofrising
nurse. They’retalking about‘thatAcid House’ craze. I’ve houseprices, lowwages, Thatcherism, smileyfacesand
been hoarding flyers, looking fornumbers, listening to tabloid hysteria ata tenfold increasein Ecstasyuse. KissFM
pirates, hunting anyscrapthatwill lead mebacktolast cameoffairin search ofa licence. ByJanuary’89, Acid
weekend. Tohaveitall overagain. It’ssuddenlyclearthat House, soTheFacesaid, wasout. Maybeitwas, butsince
I’vebecomean outsider. theSummerofLoveseveral strandsofRavemusichave
proliferated. TherewasAcid House, Garage, Balearic,
Myfirsttasteofseriousclubbing wasbackin theearly80s. emergentTechno, Hardcore, Breakbeat, Garidge(sic) –
Fridaynight, meand thecrewwould godancing in the butmusiclikeSoul, RareGroove, HipHop, Ragga and
HorseShoeon Tottenham CourtRoad – Funkin oneroom, Reggaealsothrived. Forsomepeople, Ravewassomething
Jazzin theother. Paul Anderson would beDJing a wicked differentand weird. Therewassomething aboutRavethat
set, then he’d leavethedeckstojoin theboyson thefloor sucked peoplein from all overand created a kind ofunity.
– hewasa wicked dancer. In thosedayspeoplewould Butby’91, theDancemusicscenefractured into
takean extra setofclothestochangeintoaftertheclub. subdivisions, including theHardcoreand Breakbeatcrews.
You would beDRENCHED. There’d bequeuesin thetoilets
forthosenewhand blowdryers, peopletrying todry
themselvesoffbeforefacing thelong walkhome.
Wednesdaysand Saturdaysitwould beroller-skating atthe
ElectricBallroom, Camden Town whereIwasa marshal.
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We’re in DJ Ron’s car travelling North up the M1 to Bradford where he’s playing out. The pirates on
the stereo are fading into static. We’re talking about JDB. You can talk about it forever …
Ron: So how did you get into this thing anyway?
B: I was a raver from time, but from mid to late ’92 I started listening to Hardcore with Dub and
Ragga samples, like Terminator. I always thought those dark tracks were wicked. The ‘happy’ tunes
were good, but the dark ones really got you. I checked By Any Means Necessary at Brixton Academy at
the end of ’92. I remember the DJs were Grooverider, Frost and Mickey Finn. The whole night was
dark. I remember dancing at the front, looking ‘round and noticing there wasn’t a smile amongst the
people. Not one smile. But everyone was into it. It wasn’t a bad vibe. I remember being off my head
and thinking that I must remember this. This is different now. It’s still good but it was different.
It was serious now like a militant army. People were concentrating, no waving hands in the air.
They were seriously concentrating. I don’t know if it was billed as a Jungle rave – but it was.
BEGINNINGS
“We started in the fields, a lotofpeople joined the
train and didn’tknow where itcame from.” Goldie reminiscesabouttheoriginal Pied Pipers: “Paul Oakenfold,
Evil EddieRichards, TonyBones, Paul Anderson, DJ Face. Big
up… DaveRoberts, Neil, JeremyTaylor, TonyColston-Hayter,
Rickyfrom Raindance, Paul Ibiza, Wayne– Genesis, ‘nuff
Dancing in the Fields, Following
respect. Imetsomecharacters, Oh Mi Gosh! Remember
the Music
one-eyed Garyand histrickwith thecigarettebox? Bwoy.”
On theground asa raverin 1989, you’d ring thenumber, Like5ive’O thevastmajorityofthosenowworking atthe
hitthemeeting pointatSouth Mimmsservicestation off forefrontoftheJDB industrywereatthoseraves.
theM25, followthe‘pilot’, join theconvoyon motorways Somewherein thecrowdsyou’d bedancing with thelikes
and countrylanesand find x-amountofcars– horns ofDJ Brockie, MCCo-Gee, DJ Ron, Roni Size, MCGQ, DJ Ital
blowing, suspension bouncing, stereosblaring, thewhole and Rebel MC, who’d been tempted outoftheinnercities
lotrockin’. Crammed with yourcreworanystrangerglad tolisten towhattheirfriendscondemned as‘ThatDevil
ofa lift, ittookcar-sharing intoanotherdimension. Music’. Theydidn’tcare. Bare-chested, perched atopspeaker
stackssomewherearound theM25 you’d havefound Daz,
You’d beexchanging chat– “Whereyou goin’? Whata Chrisand Jay, latertobecomeWorld Dance. They’d be
get-up. D’ya gettothatoneoverby… ? You wasthere?! dripping with sweaton Saturdaynightand riding thefirst
Lookatthatgeeza. Whatyou got, trips, EEEs? Sniffdat… ! classcarriagestoworkin theCityofLondon’sForeign
Everything sorted. Pukka!” – Thecircushad hittheroad and Exchangedealing roomson Mondaymornings. DJ Storm
itwasinstinctivetofollow. Oneraver, MC5ive’O, went waswedged behind theseatsofa friend’sSpitfireheading
everywhere, often on hisown. Likemanyothers, theonly toa ravein Cambridgewith Kemistry. Down in theWest
thing hecared aboutwasthenextparty– Sunrise, Energy, ofEngland, Roni Sizeran through fields, chasing thebeats
BacktotheFuture, Perception, Confusion, Land ofOz, ofBukem, Grooverider, FabioorJumping JackFrost.
BreakfastClub, Raindance, CarWash, Biology, Destination
Unknown … chasing everyMysteryTourgoing. He
010 BEGINNINGS
